


Sound Check

by helens78



Category: Anthropomorfic - Fandom, Canadian Actor RPF (C6D), Musical Instruments (Anthropomorfic)
Genre: Anthropomorphism - Freefom, Crack, First Time, Music, Musical Instruments, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike's always wished someone would come along and give him the rough treatment he's been craving.  Enter one Hugh R. Dillon, of the Headstones, the Hugh Dillon Redemption Choir, and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound Check

**Author's Note:**

> If this pairing doesn't make any sense to you, I implore you to [watch this video](http://youtu.be/1FPXNIpIuo0), or pretty much any video starring Hugh Dillon. Trust me: _you will get it_.

Mike liked it rough.

Mike was pretty sure he was born to take it rough; he was made of cold rolled steel and finished with a matte black powder coating. His base was ten inches, round and die-cast, sturdy and heavy enough to keep him upright through one hell of a lot of rough trade. He had one of those fancy single-piece height adjustment clutches, which meant somebody using him could telescope his tubing from forty-five to seventy-five inches with _one hand_ \--leaving the other hand free for... anything.

He met a lot of people in his line of work. Just singers; guitarists and drummers and keyboard players always said they couldn't get close enough to him. It wasn't like he meant to be standoffish; it was just the way he was built. He needed someone with freedom to move, someone who could push him around. Someone who wasn't afraid to pick him up and walk across the stage with him, who could get physical. Guitarists had their own instruments to deal with; Mike needed someone who could give him _everything_.

The first time Hugh got his hands on Mike, Mike could feel it from his threaded top and mic clip all the way down to his cast-iron base. Hugh made it clear right from the outset that Mike was _his_ , and it wasn't about proving a point or showing Mike who was boss--Hugh just took control like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hugh's hands were hot and rough on him, tight on his mic clip and the microphone itself. Hugh got a good firm grip on him, and squeezed the upper length of Mike's tubing as they got through the first minute of the sound check.

 _Please. Oh, God--oh, fuck, please._ Mike couldn't beg, but he wanted to; he could feel how much more Hugh had to give, how much Hugh could _take_. The sound check moved on, and Hugh picked Mike up and moved with him, passed him back and forth from hand to hand. Hugh tilted Mike off his base like Mike weighed nothing.

Mike was just about ready to believe that this couldn't get any better when Hugh drew him in close. Hugh pushed down on him, and he almost vibrated in anticipation of that smooth slide into himself, tubing moving into tubing--and then, oh fuck, Hugh was pressing that one-handed clutch and driving Mike down a few fast, hard inches. Hugh put both his hands on Mike's mic and mic clip, covering them with his warmth, his strength. Christ, Mike was pretty sure the lubrication between his tubes was getting more and more slippery with every line Hugh sang.

Hugh wove his fingers around Mike's microphone, slipping the mic between his ring finger and his pinky. It was a superstar move--Mike knew singers like Jagger did it, and a lot of people did it just to copy Jagger--but Hugh didn't make it like a superstar. It wasn't for show. He was feeling out every single inch of Mike and the microphone, getting to know their weight and feel and dimensions.

Another rough walk across the stage; God, Mike was getting dizzy. He wanted to tell Hugh _yes, God, please, use me, fucking manhandle me, make it rough, make it so goddamned rough, please, I can take it, I can take anything, please, goddamnit, please..._ But he couldn't; the only voice that ever passed through Mike was his singer's, and Hugh was using his voice for all that rough, guttural, brutally-honest music. It was like singing laid Hugh out open and raw for the few minutes he did it, and he channeled all his energy and focus through Mike, _into_ Mike.

It was enough to make Mike want to come, right then and there.

Hugh squeezed the clutch again and drew another few inches out of Mike, making him longer--fuck, Mike would get as long as Hugh wanted, as long as Hugh needed him to be. Hugh dragged him backwards-- _fuck_ , yeah--and then, oh, _fuck_ , Hugh was pulling Mike hard against his thigh and holding Mike's lower tubing so tight, _so tight_ , Christ, _please fuck hell yes_ \--

The song ended, and Hugh set Mike upright. Mike did his best not to collapse; his clutch was the only thing keeping his tubing from collapsing into itself. Hugh looked energized, ready to go again, and Mike thought a whole hell of a lot of grateful thoughts at whoever had gotten him this gig with Hugh. _Thank you, thank you, thank you..._

"Sounds fucking _great_ ," Hugh said. He kept his hand on Mike while he was talking, curved over the mic clip; Mike was grateful for that, too. He didn't want to see Hugh go just yet. "How's the mix feel to everybody?"

"Think it needs some work," one of the others said--Mike couldn't tell who, since all his attention was on Hugh right now. "You okay with another one?"

"Absolutely," Hugh said, and Mike grinned inwardly and braced himself for another song.

 _-end-_


End file.
